Chapter 3
The cinematic, natural lighting of the dining room seemed to sharpen, casting harsh clarity over the fractured family dynamic. Alessandra held Caleb tightly, adjusting her grip to ensure his bruised ribs were protected against her chest. She turned her back on Francesca without a single word, intending to carry her son out the double oak doors to the waiting medical staff in the east wing.
She took two steps before her path was physically blocked.
Vincent Romano, her sixty-eight-year-old father and the retired patriarch of the syndicate, stepped heavily into the doorway. Dressed in a crisp formal shirt, dark trousers, and polished leather shoes, Vincent still carried the imposing bulk of his youth. His fair skin was lined with age, but the heavy family ring on his finger caught the light as he crossed his arms, forming an impenetrable human wall.
"Move, Dad," Alessandra commanded, her voice dangerously low, stripped of any familial warmth.
"You aren't leaving this room until the dinner is concluded, Alessandra," Vincent rumbled, his deep American accent vibrating with the outdated authority he still believed he possessed. "We do not air our grievances in the hallway."
Before Alessandra could formulate a response that didn't involve ordering her bodyguards to forcefully remove her father, a blur of expensive fabric stepped into her peripheral vision.
Bianca Romano, Alessandra’s thirty-six-year-old older sister, stormed forward. She wore a stunning, diamond-encrusted dinner dress that highlighted her fair, rosy skin. Her fingers were heavy with rings, and her high heels clicked aggressively against the hardwood floor. Bianca had always resented Alessandra’s ascension to the head of the family, believing the throne rightfully belonged to her and, eventually, her son Mason.
Without a shred of hesitation, Bianca reached out and violently grabbed Alessandra’s free arm.
"You are not going to ruin this evening over a childish scuffle," Bianca hissed, her face twisting into an ugly mask of entitlement.
With a sudden, explosive motion, Bianca swung her free hand and slapped Alessandra hard across the face. The sound cracked through the silent dining room like a gunshot.
The capos and bodyguards instinctively reached for their concealed weapons, the sheer shock of seeing their Boss struck in public overriding their usual discipline. Alessandra didn't flinch. She didn't drop Caleb. She slowly turned her head back, her cheek stinging, her dark eyes locking onto her older sister with a cold, terrifying emptiness.
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"My son’s future matters more than your drama," Bianca shouted, furious, pointing a manicured finger at the whimpering Caleb. "Mason is the heir to this family, not that weak little burden you carry around! You will learn to respect his position!"
Alessandra did not scream. She did not argue. The time for words had officially ended. She slowly turned her entire body back toward Bianca, handing Caleb gently to the nearest loyal bodyguard, her eyes never leaving her sister’s flushed face.
